


The Flower We Saw That Day

by petras



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, crosspost from ffnet, flowey-centric, post-true pacifist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 17:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10621944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petras/pseuds/petras
Summary: There he stays uproot all by himself and there he remains broken.





	

There rooted on the bed of flowers is a flower but not like any other ordinary flower. This flower was injected by DETERMINATION and thus brought to life. Yet, he holds no compassion for anybody else. He is soulless, brutally evil and innocent looking but deadly.

He is Flowey the flower.

Albeit his current form, he was previously known as Asriel Dremurr. The prince of the Underground and son of King Asgore and Queen Toriel, who is supposed to be dead but now is a golden flower. How he became a flower? Nobody else knows except him and that annoyingly determined Frisk.

Under the ray of artificial light, Flowey stays uproot all by himself. It probably has been days or months–heck–even years since Frisk has broken the barrier and all the other monsters have left for the surface above. Unfortunately for the golden flower, he turned into _him_ when it happened.

Oh how he remembered being that crybaby again and saying his petty goodbyes to that stupid human. Hahaha… how utterly idiotic.

He never like how he used to be. Honestly he even loathed that… that _side_ of his. Always so understanding, so forgiving and oh so _weak_. Just look how frail and tiny his physique was and how much of a scaredy cat he is–was he corrects himself– always making sure that he and Chara were always safe. It was too pitiful of him.

Everything about Asriel makes Flowey cringe in disgust. Because of Asriel, he became what he is now. A good for nothing piece of earth that has no soul, no love–no, not LOVE – and no _everything_. I mean, Flowey lost everything he had and loved ever since he became a goddamn flower.

Now all he'll ever be is a golden flower, forever rooted on the bed of flowers in the ruins that used to be the home where his mother took shelter after _his_ death. Alone and devoid of any of his previous characteristics.

It is usually quiet for him and he pays no mind to how desolate the area is. Flowey laughs to himself. A fast paced and mad laugh. The one he would always cry out whenever a sadistic thought enters his mind.

"It's been a while." He blurts out. If you're there with him without him knowing your presence, it will seem like he's talking to himself. Well, that's what you think.

"Hasn't it, Chara?"

He looks at nothing in particular in his surroundings in the room but the lone flower can almost make out the figure of an old friend. What he doesn't know is that the figure was just a product of his imagination.

"We've done it!" A grin crept up his features, expressing his happiness to the non-existent figure to his focus.

"The barrier's broken and everyone has left."

The grin turned malicious and an air of bloodlust appeared around him.

"Now I can finally _die_!" he exclaims and a maniacal and hysterical cackle rings throughout the room. "Can you believe that, Chara?!"

"After all this suffering, you can now kill me!" he rocks himself back and forth.

"What are you waiting for dear sibling?! _Kill me!_ Stomp me with your feet, pluck out my petals, tear me apart to pieces and pierce me with that knife of yours!" he screams a ravished one. That kind of scream where he turns desperate and longing for something he knows he can't obtain.

"Anything, Chara… Just _kill me_!" his fit of despair continued but his request goes unanswered.

So, he soon stops and calms himself down. A grunt escapes his mouth and an apparent expression of disappointment plastered on his face. He's been doing this for quite a while now and all attempts have turned unfruitful. Now, he thinks about it and Flowey snickers to himself.

It's stupid, he thinks. Stupid to desire death with open arms, or in his case none. Stupid to imagine many possible and impossible events that could hopefully end his pitiful life. Everything about it is foolish and he knows that especially.

After a few minutes of reflecting, Flowey's expression turns sorrowful and he heaves a long and regretful sigh.

"Don't I have anything better to do?"


End file.
